


Lion Tamer

by loststardust



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, still no idea how to tag this shit ffs just read it its spicy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-27 00:37:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14413878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loststardust/pseuds/loststardust
Summary: You and Arthur have been friends for years; you're the only one who can calm him down when he loses his head, and he's the only one brave enough to challenge your attitude. You're inseparable - and Tommy hates every part of it.





	1. Chapter 1

Arthur tossed his latest sparring partner aside. He watched him drop, landing a final kick into his victim’s chest, before turning to bellow into the room: ‘Who the fuck’s next?’ 

From a few feet away, Tommy turned, reaching out with flat palms in an attempt to still his brother. ‘Arthur,’ he spoke between pants, ‘that’s enough.’ 

He was attempting to bring him back from the red storm he’d become choked in. Arthur’s drunken rage had bubbled and strained until it had exploded completely, sending him stumbling around the bar in a fury of curled fists and snarls. He’d over-reacted, of course. Turned the short argument of biting words into a war neither sides had seen coming. Tommy had sprung to his defence, joining the brawl on instinct, after sending Ada to the back of the room. 

It hadn’t taken long. Arthur had eliminated the threat, that he’d imagined into existence, before Tommy had even moved to his second man. Now, they both stood panting, with reddened fists and bloodied sleeves.

‘I should get (y/n),’ Ada suggested, from behind. 

‘No.’ Tommy shook his head. ‘We can deal with this ourselves, alright? He’s our brother.’

Ada rolled her eyes, stepping forward to gesture to Arthur, who was making his way around the room, threatening any man who happened to look his way. ‘For fuck’s sake, Tommy! He won’t listen to us.’

‘Arthur,’ he called again.

‘He’ll start a fight with God Almighty if we don’t stop him,’ she snapped.

‘Fine.’ Tommy’s jaw clenched. ‘Bring (y/n) here.’ She was already moving to leave, needing little more to send her on her way. ‘And do it fast, Ada.’

Ada had practically taken your door off with a single knock when she’d arrived. She’d barely paused after you’d opened it, talking over your hello to tell you, ‘Arthur’s lost his head, again.’ 

You were in your night clothes, dressed in nothing but thin cotton and a closely wrapped robe, but you didn’t hesitate. You’d slipped on the closest pair of shoes and followed after her. Blindly into the night, soon finding yourself as short of breath as she was. 

You’d arrived at the White Doe in minutes. It wasn’t a usual jaunt for the Shelbys, but considering Ada was with them, it wasn’t surprising. She liked to go someplace new, somewhere as unfamiliar with them as they were with it. 

When the pair of you had entered, the place was empty. Empty and gutted, with furniture and glass strewn across the floor. Only Tommy and Arthur were stood in amongst the wreckage, meters apart from one another, as if equally as reluctant to approach. 

Tommy spun, looking to you with a heavy sigh, his lids dropping to half cover his eyes. Relief. Relief at seeing you there, not that he’d ever admit it. ‘Arthur,’ he spoke to his brother, ‘(y/n) is here.’

‘What happened?’ You asked as you approached, not yet looking to Arthur. You could hear him muttering to himself, see him pacing from the corner of the eye, but you held back. Best to learn the situation first. 

‘What d’you think?’ Tommy said with a dead laugh. ‘Too much to drink, and not enough sense.’ He shouted the last bit toward Arthur, who replied with a ‘Fuck off’ and kick to the nearest chair.

You closed your eyes for a moment. You hated seeing him like this, and as satisfying as it was to know you were the only one who could bring him back, it hurt every time you had to. Every shout, every broken glass and empty bottle, every bust knuckle, was like taking a burning hot poker right to the chest. 

You opened your eyes again and looked for him. He was stood still, shoulders shuddering with each heaving breath. He’d run out of things to break, scared away his supply of walking punching bags and yet, he wasn’t calm. He was in a tormented limbo of his own distress. 

Stepping toward him, you fell into the script that had worked time and time again. ‘Arthur,’ you said, ‘it’s (y/n).’

His chin twitched toward you. He watched you from over his shoulder, red faced and tiring. ‘Fuck off,’ he spat.

‘You don’t mean that.’

He took another heaving breath.

‘You gonna fight me too?’ you asked, lightly. Calm and soft. As if his state didn’t alarm you, as if he were as stable as anyone else. 

‘No,’ he admitted.

‘Thought not.’

‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he said, right on queue. ‘Its not your job to fix me.’

You walked toward him then, knowing that the more vocal he was, the less violent he’d be. ‘I don’t think you need fixing, Arthur.’

‘Stop it.’

You hesitated. He’d strayed from the usual call and response. ‘Stop what?’

‘Getting in my head.’ His voice was strained as he turned toward you at last, meeting you face-to-face with little space between. ‘You’re always getting in fucking my head.’ He spat as he spoke, more distressed than he’d been a few seconds ago. 

‘I…’ you stuttered, switching from confusion to annoyance in a millisecond. ‘I’m not getting in your head.’ The idea repulsed you. You weren’t manipulating him, you were soothing him. There was no maliciousness. No ulterior motive.

‘No one could get in there if they fucking tried, Arthur,’ Tommy said from behind you, breaking the second of silence. Ada shushed him, smacking his arm as she did so. She was right to; now wasn’t the time for petty insults and bickering; Arthur was moments from another episode. You could feel it in the stale air around you both. 

‘I’m trying to help, Arthur.’ You attempted to keep hold of your thinning patience. ‘I’m just talking.’

‘Talking! That’s all anyone bloody does.’ He was shouting now, blasting his words forward, filling the Doe with his noise. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose, and sighed, speaking to him with closed eyes. ‘I know.’ You were agreeing with him for lack of any other idea. Sometimes the only solution was to agree. ‘I know it is, Arthur.’

‘You come in and you talk, and suddenly everything’s supposed to be better.’ The drunken sentences barrelled from his lips, spilling from under his moustache without thought. You were almost positive even he didn’t believe what he was saying. ‘You think you can help. I don’t need fucking help.’

You ignored the anger he pointed toward you, it wasn’t genuine, you hoped. ‘You’re just upset. And drunk,’ you said. 

‘I don’t need fucking help,’ he said, sinking into something quieter, something sadder, his voice shaking as he spoke. 

‘I know.’ It was easy to lie to him drunk. He wouldn’t remember it in the morning. ‘Of course you don’t. You’re just fine as you are.’

He looked at you then, for the first time really. His eyes were clear of rage, filled instead with fear, and the shadow of un-shed tears. He was looking at you like you were the answer, and then you knew; you’d done it somehow. You’d wrangled him back from another episode, taming the lion inside with little idea of how. If you were honest, you often felt like you didn’t have to do anything. That your presence alone was enough to kick-start his own self control, to make him clear the haze on his mind away, all by himself. That was the theory anyway. 

You crossed the space between you and pulled him into your arms, feeling him collapse into your hold with sobs rocking his frame. He always reached that point. So exhausted from fighting, so poisoned by the liquor he couldn’t give up, that all he could do was cry. You’d grown used to it. You were even relieved to see it, it meant the worst was over. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, into the material of your night-shirt.

‘Don’t be,’ you replied. You stroked his back, hoping to ease some tension. ‘What’re friends for, eh?’ It was a pathetic attempt of a joke and it was received with a pathetic tear-filled laugh. However small it was, it felt good to share a smile between you.

After a minute or so, you broke apart, each leaving one of your arms lazily over the other. 

‘C’mon,’ you said, seeing the weariness in his nature, ‘if you hadn’t noticed, I got out of bed for this.’ You twisted to show him your attire, glad to see his eyes fill with amusement. 

You’d almost forgotten you weren’t the only people in the building, until Tommy cleared his throat, announcing his presence before addressing you both. ‘We didn’t bring you here to flirt, (y/n).’

You rolled your eyes. It wasn’t worth fighting back, Arthur was himself again and that’s all that mattered. 

‘You came to calm him down,’ he continued, ‘and calm him you did.’

‘We should be going,’ Ada added, without correcting Tommy. You hadn’t expected her to, they all believed you and Arthur were something more, regardless of how often you told them the opposite. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if they called the fucking Irish on him.’

‘Sleeping with her,’ Arthur slurred, a conversation behind the rest of you, ‘would be like sleeping with a fucking sister.’ 

You groaned. He’d gone from rage, to sadness, and then straight to dopey, slopping, drunkard. ‘Charming,’ you said, as you pulled him toward where Tommy and Ada stood, ready to pass him over to them. ‘I guess that’s my queue to leave.’

‘Thank-you.’ Ada helped shoulder her brother’s weight. ‘We’d be here hours without you.’

‘I do what I can.’ You shrugged, eyes leaving Arthur to catch Tommy’s. ‘At least one of you appreciates that.’

‘I appreciate it. Very much,’ Arthur added. 

You ignored him and steadied your gaze, staring down the one Shelby that seemed to have a particular sourness against your friendship. 

Tommy gave you a tight lipped smile. ‘I can’t say I appreciate the hold you have on my brother, (y/n), but it makes things a lot easier.’ 

‘If you think I’m the one trying to control him, you should take a good look in the mirror, Tommy.’ 

He said nothing, so you carried on. 

‘He’s my friend.’ You smiled a devilish smile. ‘I know that’s a concept you’re unfamiliar with.’

‘Let’s not be children,’ Ada interrupted, putting a stop to your games. ‘Arthur’s near enough dead on his feet.’ 

You’d waited a long time to speak your mind to Thomas Shelby, and it seemed you’d have to wait longer still. With a hum, and a smile in Ada’s direction, you left the Doe, not bothering to say goodbye to either of the Shelby brothers. One wouldn’t remember, and the other didn’t care.


	2. Chapter 2

You woke and the day was no different. You were alone in your flat, lying in a bed only big enough for one, and you didn’t mind a bit. It was all yours. The flat was yours, the bed and the dressing table, the clothes in the wardrobe… all of it yours and paid for with your own money. There wasn’t a thing worth complaining about. 

You didn’t even mind that your sleep had been short and unrestful. A late night call, to whatever mess Arthur had gotten himself into, was nothing unusual; just a part of how things were. Just as yours as the rest of it. 

Once dressed, you made eggs, and tea, and had them at your kitchen table. You read the paper - although skimmed was a more accurate word, then moved the dirty crockery to the sink to wash up. It was all routine, a comforting necessity. You hummed as you worked, looking from plates and bubbles, to streets and people through the window ahead. 

When you heard a clatter by the door, your hands froze. 

You paused your song to listen, looking over your shoulder to the the doorway - it was there again. Though this time followed by a thud, a grunt, and reckless footsteps. The dish slipped from your hands, splashing water up your front. 

Your heart raced fast enough to leave your mouth incapable of words - your eyes stayed steady on the door, mind racing to plan your route out if things got bad. There was a gun in the wardrobe, but you’d never make it there in time. You’d fight your way past them and into the street instead. 

After a few more steps, the intruder turned the corner into the kitchen.

‘Jesus, Arthur!’ you spat, stilling yourself against the basin, letting your head fall between your shoulders. ‘I thought I was being fucking robbed.’ 

He laughed, merry as anything. ‘Nah, only me.’

You sighed and willed your heart to slow before looking back at him. Stood there, loaf of bread in one hand and a bunch of sorry looking flowers in the other, you could’t be mad for long. God knows why you ever let him have a key. 

‘I came to apologise, love.’ He offered a smile and gestured forward with his gifts. ‘Brought you these, to say sorry. Thought if I got here early enough you could have it with your eggs.’

You turned completely and gave him the space to see the washing behind. He knew your routine, he just didn’t know it well enough. ‘You missed your window,’ you said.

‘Ah.’ Clearing his throat, he laid the bread and flowers on the table. ‘I’ll leave ‘em here then.’

‘Thank-you, Arthur,’ you smiled, drying your hands on your apron, ‘though you know I don’t need gifts for being a friend.’

‘Least I could do.’ He shrugged. 

You could tell he was uncomfortable; he rubbed a hand at his moustache, before tucking both into his pockets and looking about the room as if it were new to him. 

Leaning back against the counter, you folded your arms across your chest. He was soft in a way you weren’t used to, less hangover and more regret. ‘You alright?’ you asked. 

He sighed. ‘Look, I don’t know what I said to ya last night, didn’t know you were fucking there at all til Ada said.’

‘It’s fine, Arthur.’

‘If I offended ya, just know, alright, just know I didn’t mean it.’ He looked back at you, shaking his head as if it pained him to admit. ‘You know how I bloody get.’

‘It’s alright. Really.’ It was. You barely even blinked at his drunken outbursts anymore, you knew he didn’t mean them, they were as separate from him as someone else’s words would be. ‘What’s brought this on?’ 

‘Just been thinking, it’s about time I fucking treat you better.’

You snuffed a laugh. ‘Busy morning, ey? You don’t normally start thinking til noon.’ He laughed; you’d coaxed the smile from him that you wanted and took it as a cue to nod him forward. ‘Come on then, sit down. I’ll make us tea.’

‘Ah, not for me, Tommy’s got me chasing down the Lee boys. London stuff,’ he grunted, adding the last information in a way that told you not to push it. 

‘Alright.’ Really it made no difference if he stayed or not, you had work in an hour anyway. 

‘Come find me later?’ he asked, knowing you knew where. The Garrison, his pub, his home away from home. It didn’t take a scientist to work it out. ‘Drinks on me, yeah?’

‘Sure, Arthur.’ You smiled. ‘Now go on, before you do any more thinking. I’ve only got room for so many flowers.’

He gave a quick smile, nodded a goodbye, and turned to leave. You watched as he did, smiling and holding your arms to yourself. 

One thing you loved about your friendship with him was how easy it was to say goodbye. You didn’t feel like you had to hug him, or squeeze his hand and wish him well; you knew you’d see him again in the same day, or the next, so goodbyes were less important. It worked well for the two of you.

Before you could turn back to the sink, he’d retraced his steps. He cleared his throat. ‘Oh, and, that lad you been seeing? I don’t like him,’ he said, holding the cap that had been tucked in his pocket. ‘Don’t like him one bit.’

You rolled your eyes. ‘You never like any man I date.’ 

‘You’re too good for him, (Y/n). Too bloody good.’

‘It’s really not that serious, Arthur.’ You turned your back to him, busying your hands again, sighing when you felt the water had gone cold. ‘We’re just fooling around.’

‘Well, fool round with some other bloke then. Alright?’ 

You glanced over your shoulder, arching an eyebrow. ‘Is that an order?’

He looked down to his cap. ‘Yeah, but it’s not from me. Tommy…’

You slammed a clean plate into the drying rack. ‘Tommy, what, Arthur? Tommy fucking what?’

‘I’m just the bloody messenger, alright, at least I put it nicely. Tommy wanted me to fucking cut the prick.’

‘Oh, fuck off.’ You scoffed, staring at him in the reflection of the window. ‘Like I should be grateful for that?’

‘Don’t start, (y/n)-’

‘Me starting? You just called him a prick!’

‘I said don’t you fucking start,’ he snapped, thrusting the cap and it’s glinting peak toward you. ‘Just finish the fucking thing. Get rid of him.’ He set the cap in place and paced from the room.

‘Fine!’ you barked back, raising your voice to shout after him, ‘But tell Tommy I’m getting a few fucking fucks in before I do!’

\-------------------

‘If it isn’t our (Y/n),’ John greeted you, beaming as you entered the Garrison. ‘Get over here, you cheeky fuck.’

You rolled your eyes, but obliged nonetheless. ‘Cheeky? What did I do?’ 

You set yourself down on the stool beside him, and nodded at Harry to fix you your usual. Never thought you’d have a usual, there of all places, but with the Shelbys around there wasn’t much choice. You spent your time at work, home, and at the Garrison. That was your lot. 

‘What did I do?’ John mimed. ‘You’re a right one, you know that?’ He smacked your shoulder lightly, his lips setting into a coy grin. ‘I spat out my fucking cig when he told me.’

You lifted a hand and gestured that you didn’t follow. ‘It’s been a long day, John,’ you sighed, ‘I don’t want to play games.’

‘Telling Tommy to look in the fucking mirror,’ he said it proudly, laughter hidden beneath the words. ‘Some right fucking tongue on you.’

You groaned. ‘I forgot about that.’

‘He hasn’t, he told me about it this morning like it fucking haunted him.’

‘Really?’ Your eyebrow arched. ‘Why would it?’

John scoffed and took a drink of his malt. 

‘Surely I’m not the first to tell Tommy Shelby he’s a prick,’ you said. 

‘Not many do.’ He laughed again, shaking his head slightly. ‘Fucking balls on you that men would kill for.’

You hummed, thanking the barman as he slid a glass to you. Rum, just as you liked it. ‘Cheers to cheek, then,’ you said. ‘Nothing much else to drink to.’ 

John repeated, ‘To cheek,’ and raised his glass with yours. The rum stung your throat on the way down, but you smiled regardless. It had been a long day; you needed distraction and alcohol and all things Shelby.

‘So, John-boy.’ You smirked, leaning on your palm to look at him. ‘Tell me about London.’

\-------------------

It was almost an hour later when Arthur arrived. You didn’t know where he’d been, but he barrelled into the pub like he’d come fresh from a fuck. Flushed face, sweating, his spirits lifted to high heaven. 

‘What the bloody hell are you doing here?’ he asked you, voice booming, hand clapping against your back as he passed. 

‘You told me…’

He didn’t pause to hear you answer, so you stopped midway. Instead, he pulled John into a headlock and scrubbed his knuckles against his short hair. ‘How’s my little brother, ey? How the fuck is he?’

‘Fuck off, Arthur,’ John spat, reaching to yank at his arms. 

You sighed, turning back to your drink as the brothers tussled, squabbling, until they fell apart in laughter. 

‘What’s got in your fucking blood?’ John asked, scornful as he brushed his hair back into place. ‘Too much fucking snow?’

‘No snow, John, just business. Good fucking business.’ He announced, pride dripping from him. He slouched into his seat, legs wide, and waved Harry over. ‘Drinks for the lot of them.’

‘Everyone, Mr Shelby?’ he stuttered, noting the amount of faces in the room. 

‘For the bloody lot of them,’ he insisted. ‘By order of the Peaky fucking Blinders.’

You snuffed a laughed, almost choking on the rum in your mouth. You’d seen him cocky before, but never like this, never so giddy. 'Are you back on your happy pills, Arthur?’ you asked, laughing with John, who saw the same humour in his brother’s state. 

‘Yeah, and can I fucking have some?’ he added.

‘Laugh all ya want, but I’m thinking of the future.’ He gestured toward the two of you with his drink. ‘The great fucking future of Shelby Company Limited.’

‘Yeah? Care to share what that future is?’ you pushed, tiring of his attitude. When he invited you to drink with him, this wasn’t what you’d had in mind, especially after your argument earlier. You’d wanted privacy, and apologies. Not a Garrison-sized piss up.

‘I would if I could, love.’ He finally looked at you then, his soft eyes finding yours down the line of the bar. ‘You’ll see it soon enough.’

You didn’t respond. You just lifted your glass and drank the remaining rum. 

Through the bustle of those around you, you heard the doors open, and heard Tommy’s voice before you even turned to see him. ‘Where’s Polly?’ he asked, coming to a stop just behind you. 

He was the last person you wanted to see; so you didn’t look at him. You stared at the empty glass in your hands, cringing as his cigarette smoke washed over your shoulder. 

‘In there already,’ John answered. ‘She told me to wait out here while her and Lizzie talked business, whatever that fucking means.’

‘It means they’re talking business, John.’ He sighed and shifted behind you, reaching to snub his smoke into the ashtray on the bar. ‘Right, come on.’ 

With that, he turned, heading for the room reserved solely for the Blinders. John and Arthur stood in sync and walked past you with their glasses in your hands. Like soldiers following order. You weren’t invited to the meeting, that was obvious enough. But you wouldn’t have minded a goodbye. 

‘You too, (Y/n),’ Tommy called. 

You spun in your seat, finding him waiting for you, holding the door with an open arm. ‘Me? Why?’

‘Family meeting,’ he said.

It would have been stupid to question him. Tommy knew what he’d said, and he said what he meant. 

You blinked away your confusion and followed him through the doors into the room behind.


	3. Chapter 3

‘Here, love.’ Arthur patted the bench beside him. ‘Saved it for ya.’

You took your seat with a smile, leaning into him after sitting down. ‘Why does he want me here?’ you asked quietly, eyeing your unfavourable boss. 

Tommy stood at the head of the table, his back to the door as if to keep out anyone who’d try to enter; though, the whole city of Birmingham knew better than to crash a Shelby meeting. He was waiting for the group to settle, busying himself with the fresh cigarette between his lips as the family found their place and their spirits.

‘Fuck if I know. It’s surprise to me too,’ Arthur laughed, before adding, ‘A good surprise, though. Bloody good that is.’

You rolled your eyes, but stopped your retort as Tommy cleared his throat.

With his hands by his sides, his face clear of emotion, he addressed the group. 

‘As you know, Shelby Company Limited is extending its business to London, with the ultimate goal of taking the Epsom races from Derby Sabini.’

John cheered, hitting his palm against the table in a show of support, and twisted something about Italians from his mouth. 

Tommy continued, speaking over the edges of John’s contribution, ‘For this expansion to take place, we need protection, we need men on the street. Men we can trust.’

‘Too fucking right,’ Arthur added.

‘Johnny Doggs has got ten new Lee boys, as well as connections with the families in London, who are keen to give our good company their support and dedication.’

‘Support.’ Polly scoffed. ‘You mean you’ve got more foot soldiers to cut people in our name?’ 

‘Exactly, Polly,’ he replied, unfazed by her scolding. His focus was on business and business alone. ‘And more foot soldiers means we’ve got thirty new boys needing thirty new caps.’ 

Setting the cigarette in his mouth, he pulled the paper bag from the chair in front of him and dropped it onto the table. It landed with a thud, and was distinctly in front of where you were sat. As you looked at it, you felt his gaze shift solely to you. 

‘[Y/n],’ he said, ‘I want you to sew razors into every cap, like you do with Arthur’s, and bring them to me by noon tomorrow.’

You snapped your gaze from the bag to Tommy. ‘What? Me?

He nodded; you shook your head. Being assigned as the razor-maid was the last thing you’d expected from your invite to the meeting. 

‘Are you forgetting i already work for you, Tommy? I’ve got things to do in the morning.’ 

‘Which is why I’ve given you the morning off. Lizzie will cover what you miss.’

You looked across to Lizzie, but she just shrugged. 

‘Does it have to be noon?’ you bargained, knowing how fiddly the task was, and how likely it was that your fingers would bleed if you rushed. 

‘Noon at the latest.’ 

You sighed and pulled the bag of caps into your lap. Without so much as a thank-you, Tommy reached into his jacket and passed you a sealed envelope. You knew from the rattle that it was the razors, thirty of them, and some spare you hoped. You’d broken a few of Arthur’s in the past.

‘Best fucking one for the job,’ Arthur commented, his hand on your thigh as you slotted the envelope into your bag. 

‘Not a compliment,’ you muttered back. 

His sentiment didn’t softened the fact that Tommy had invited you into the meeting as a skivvy. After all you’d done for them, and Arthur, you were still just the help to Tommy. An extra set of hands when his scheme required it.

When he spoke again, moving on to the next topic of importance, you barely listened. You sat with your brows taught, unable to stop yourself from scowling. 

Every now and then, Arthur’s gaze fell on you; he didn’t like when you were annoyed, but he couldn’t do anything about it. Instead, he watched as you sulked with worry pressed into the line of his lips.

\--------------------

The meeting passed like your own personal war: painfully, and for much longer than you’d imagined. 

Once it had concluded, and Tommy had gone, you’d moved to leave; Arthur had pulled you back - his arm hooked around your waist before you could stand from the bench. 

‘Where you off, ay?’ he asked, confident from his drinking and the adrenaline of hearing Tommy’s plans for London. 

You sighed. ‘Home, Arthur. I’ll have to get up early tomorrow.’

He frowned and squeezed you slightly. ‘What about our drinks?’

‘Oh, so you remember now?’ You stared him down until you felt his arm pull back. ‘You can stay and drink. I’m going home.’

‘Alright, alright.’ He shook his head slightly, giving you the space to get up. ‘I forgot, okay?’

‘No, you didn’t.’ You grabbed the bag of hats and stood, making it to the door before you turned back to add, ‘It’s funny, really. You said this morning you were going to treat me better. It’s taken you less than a day to go back on it.’

He laughed awkwardly, looking between the remaining Shelbys in the room. You could tell from his posture that you’d made him itch. It wasn’t embarrassment but it was close. ‘What’s this about, ay?’ he asked, facing you again. ‘What’s got into ya?’

Your face twisted into a smile. ‘One wonders, Arthur, ’ you said, before leaving the room. 

‘Fuck’s sake.’ He cursed under his breath, following after you as you paced through the Garrison and out the front. You didn’t stop as he fell into step beside you - you just stared ahead, waiting for him to say something that would bring you back from the haze you’d created.

You weren’t especially mad at him, you were frustrated by the evening all together. Arthur just happened to be in your line of fire. 

‘Fuck was that about?’ he asked, pulling close to you as he finished putting on his coat. ‘Talking to me like that, in front of the lot of them.’

‘I won’t police what I say to you. I’d have talked the same if the room was empty.’

He grumbled, looking away from you as if it would hide his annoyance. ‘Yeah, well I don’t fucking appreciate it.’

‘I don’t appreciate being the Shelbys’ fucking skivvy,’ you snapped.

You came to stop, not by choice, but because he’d grabbed your arm and forced you to. ‘Is that what this is? You’re mad ‘cause Tommy asked something from ya?’ he asked.

‘Not just something, Arthur. He gave me the fucking maid’s job. And he didn’t give me any room to say no, and then he fucking carried on like I wasn’t there.’

‘It’s a family meeting, [Y/n]. It’s just business.’

You shook your head. ‘It was a power play.’

He scoffed. ‘Power play? Fucking power play?’

‘Last night,’ you stepped closer to him - to keep your voice quiet but your words angled, ‘he was very fucking clear that he didn’t like me, or my involvement with you. He’d have me out of the picture in a heartbeat.’

Arthur sighed but let you continue; he couldn’t deny it. 

‘Then today, he welcomes me into the family meeting; gives me a very un-family fucking job. Then, he announces that he’s taking you and John to London.’ You felt your voice catch in your throat. ‘And, if you haven’t realised, Arthur, London is very fucking far away from me.’

‘You’re thinking ‘bout it too much.’

‘Am I?’ 

‘Tommy doesn’t care about-’

‘Tommy doesn’t care,’ you spat. ‘The sentence ends there, Arthur. Tommy doesn’t fucking care. He doesn’t care that you and I…’

His eyes blazed beneath his cap. ‘You and I what, ay? You and I fucking what?’ 

You stilled yourself. You had no end for the statement, so you’d redirected it instead. 'He doesn’t care that I can help, that I can keep you calm. You know he uses you like an attack dog, Arthur-’

‘Not this. Don’t fucking start this again,’ he barked. 

‘I’m starting it ‘cause you never let me finish.’ You reached for him: for his collar, or his face, you didn’t know - he stepped back before you could touch him.

In the space between you, he became hostile. His patience had been spent. When he started again, he pointed at you, jabbing his words with it. 

‘We’re going to London because that’s what’s fucking next, yeah? And you’re sewing razors into caps, 'cause that’s what needs to be done.’ He was almost shouting, his words spitting from under his moustache. ‘That’s all it is, right? No fucking conspiracy, no fucking power play. Just a job for the good of the company.’

You stared at him, words failing you. ‘For the good of the company,’ you repeated. The people passing were caught by your argument, but none stared, none stopped. They knew better than that. 

‘Whatever problem you have with Tommy, you forget it.’ His hand dropped, his supposed victory stripping back some of his anger. ‘Whatever’s gone on in your head, leave it be, right? Leave it fucking be.’

Jaw clenched, you nodded. You didn’t agree with him, but you couldn’t see how the conversation would swing back in your favour. His mind was made up. 

‘Right.’ He accepted the conclusion. ‘I’ll walk you home, then.’

‘What if I don’t want you too?’ you asked, speaking through the clench of your teeth. 

His hands threaded into his pockets, his hips rocking towards you as he waited for you to start walking again. ‘I’d do it anyway,’ he said, ‘two steps behind.’

\--------------------

By the time you’d reached the flat, the tension between you had long gone. You were smiling, as was he, and you’d even found yourself linking arms as you used to. You were glad of it; it meant that things were still how they should’ve been. 

Beneath all the arguments, beneath Arthur’s episodes and your self-sourced antidotes, beneath the drama of the company… the pair of you were the same as you always were. Inseparable. The best friendship you’d ever had. The only man in your life to stay without leaving, or being told to go. 

You were thankful of that. You always would be.

‘You get caught up in things, Arthur,’ you said. ‘You didn’t forget our plans, you just saw everyone else was there and included them too.’

‘I know.’ He sighed, leaning against the wall by your door and allowing your arm to slide free of his elbow. 

‘Sometimes, I just wish you’d pause to think.’

Nodding, he cleared is throat. ‘You and me both, love.’

He was best like this, soft; still from the demons in his head, quiet of the scars from the war. He stood and he listened, and you could feel that he cared. That he heard. You could never get him like this around Tommy, or John. Not even Ada. It’s like this side of him was kept just for you and you alone. Somedays, it was more burden than gift, but you loved it all the same. 

‘Always me looking after you,’ you mused, ‘never the other way around.’

Soft smile on your lips, you reached forward, taking his hand before he could say anything in reply. His fingers slotted between yours like it was natural, like he’d been waiting for it. 

‘You’ll be okay in London?’ you asked. You ran your thumb over his, tracing the lines of his knuckle.

He scoffed. ‘Don’t worry ‘bout me, eh.’ 

‘I always do.’

‘I’ll be fine.’ He squeezed your hand slightly, dipping his head to guide your eyes back to his. ‘Nothin’ in London that I can’t handle.’

You sighed. ‘You aren’t invincible, you know.’

‘Who am I?’ he asked, pride printed into his tone. When you didn’t reply, he shook your hand and asked again, ‘Who am I, ay?’

Rolling your eyes, you gave him the answer he wanted, ‘Arthur Shelby.’ 

‘That’s right, Arthur-fucking-Shelby.’ He was grinning; you couldn’t help but smile back. ‘London won’t know what’s fucking hit it.’

‘That I don’t doubt,’ you snorted. ‘Maybe its the others I should be worried about.’ You were doing your best to seem excited, to match the keenness he displayed, but your voice failed you. ‘I almost want to come with you,’ you admitted. 

Pulling your joined hands to his face, he pressed a kiss to the back of your palm. ‘I’ll be back before you know it, alright? You won’t even get chance to miss me.’

It wasn’t convincing; you let him believe that it was.

\--------------------

Noon. On the fucking dot, not a minute before, or a moment after. 

‘There.’ You thrust the bag of caps onto Tommy’s desk, right under his nose. ‘Thirty razor-edged caps.’

Sighing, he reclined in his seat to look at you, arms folding across his chest. ‘You almost missed the deadline.’

‘Almost being the key word there.’

You had spent the morning sewing them, each stitch giving you another reason to dislike the man, and now? You were well and truly ready for a fight. You’d done his job, but you’d done it on your own terms, and you’d get what you wanted from him if it meant standing there all day. Arguing with Tommy was fast becoming a perk of the trade. 

‘If I’d been paid for my time, I might have gone a little faster,’ you continued.

‘You’ll be paid the standard wage for the day, just like normal.’

‘Sewing isn’t in my job description, Tommy.’ You refused to call him Mr Shelby as the other employees did. You’d known him long enough to know he didn’t deserve the formality. ‘I should be compensated for working outside of my contract.’

His eyes were unmoving - but yours held just as steady. If he was trying to intimidate you, it wasn’t working. 

‘Very well.’ Reaching into his pocket, he pulled a roll of notes free, and flicked through them. You hadn’t planned this far - you didn’t know how much money would satisfy you, and you weren’t about to sell yourself short. He tossed a small wad onto the desk; the slap of the paper against wood was enough to tell you he’d been generous. 

You stepped forward, collected the money, and stepped back again. ‘Thank you,’ you said, unable to shift the sharpness from your tone. You hadn’t expected him to give in so easily; you had no idea where to go from there. 

Tommy just shrugged and linked his hands atop his chest. ‘Have you done what Arthur asked?’ 

Your eyebrows pulled together, your back stiffening instinctively. ‘Pardon?’

‘Did you get rid of the Italian?’

‘Frankie, you mean.’ You swallowed hard. ‘Yes. I got rid of him,’ you sneered, using his words like a weapon. 

‘Good.’ He cleared his throat and sat forward again, as if to suggest the conversation was over; he’d got all he wanted from you.

You chewed your lip. You had rung Frankie, let him know that things weren’t going well enough for you two. You weren’t bothered as such, but the principle of it drove you mad. 

‘Why is it,’ you started, ‘that you somehow control who I spend my time with?’

‘Because you choose to spend your time with Italians.’

‘So?’

‘With Sabini-’

You scoffed. Of course, it was all to preserve his grand scheme. ‘Not every Italian is a fucking gangster.’

‘We can’t take that risk,’ he replied. His voice was monotone, as if he’d long been bored of your conversation. ‘You’re either with us, [Y/n], or you’re not. That’s how it is, alright?’

‘No. Not fucking alright.’ Your voice peaked, ‘There is no risk!’

Tommy sighed, rubbing his brow as you spoke. 

‘He’s a fucking baker from Stetchford, Tommy, he doesn’t even know who Sabini is.’

‘It’s not up for debate.’ He looked up again, gesturing with his chin. ‘Back to work, eh.’

You shook your head. ‘He’s shit scared of you and your blinders, he wouldn’t do anything.’

‘Yeah?’ Tommy’s eyebrows lifted, his voice with it. ‘Fucking good. That’s how it should be, alright? That’s how order is fucking kept.’

‘Yeah, in a fucking dictatorship.’

You stared at him. He wasn’t going to reply; he was simply waiting for you to leave, his breathing slightly ragged from the outburst. 

Cursing under your breath, you left, only pausing again when you reached the door. You turned back to him, hand lingering on the doorknob. ‘When do you go to London?’

‘You mean, when does Arthur go?’ 

He wasn’t looking at you. His eyes were on the paper in front of him, his voice laced with smug satisfaction. 

‘Yes,’ you admitted.

‘He’s already gone. I’ll meet them down there tomorrow.’ 

That stung and he knew it. He probably wanted it to. 

You left the door open, knowing he’d have to get up to close it after you, and went back to work. If you made it through the day without speaking to another Shelby, it’d be a blessing.

**Author's Note:**

> posting this here after posting it on my tumblr (blinder-secrets)!!
> 
> hope you enjoy this arthur goodness xx


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